Cherry and Oak

“A year?” My dad is looking at me with a question mark and three ex-wives in his eyes. We’re sitting in a friend’s living room, sweating out our memorial day in hotdog and potato chip glory.

“Yeah, a year, we’re both so happy, so we figured, why wait?” I am aglow, the prospect of legally binding myself to him is thrilling and something I can’t help but want.

“How long have you guys been together, again?” I can feel the conversation tipping away from the giddy ideals of my mind to the harsh realism of my dad’s.

“A month.” I’m smiling and I think the pull of lips and teeth might just break my face. I sip on my tap water and hope that my enthusiasm will change his cynical mood toward the idea, but somewhere in my mind I know that that won’t be the case.

“Let me get this straight, you’ve known this kid for a little over a month and you guys are already planning to get married?”

This is the easy part, talking about us. I know that I may be able to convince him, slightly.

“Yeah, Dad. He’s honestly one of the greatest people I’ve ever met. He’s so honest and kind and respectful and I love him.”

I tell him of how Mike and I spent four straight days together and how all I wanted was for those days to continue on into forever.

*

It’s cold in the restaurant and I can still feel the flavoring from my tea on my lips. The glaring red of peppers hangs on signs above our booth and I can feel a hurricane inside myself. I’m staring at my food and I have no real want of eating it. I know it will taste good but the image of the police officer removing my license plate and my car on a tow truck keeps getting in the way of my mouth.

Mike is on the phone with his sister. She tells him of how the officer is still waiting around at my car. There’s apparently a ticket on my windshield.

I don’t know whether to puke or cry. If my body could handle it, I would run to the bathroom right now and do both. But I’ve got to hold it together.

Mike puts down his phone and takes my hands. His legs already encircle mine from across the booth and I love how he always wants to hold me.

“It’ll be okay baby, we’ll get it figured out, I promise. I know it sucks right now, but I’m here, you’re alive and we’ll figure everything else.”

These words do little but they ease the urge to vomit a bit. I know that he’s right. I am alive, which is more than I could ever ask for. I am with someone who loves me and we’re happy together.

The urge to cry doesn’t disappear because I have just accepted a new job at Denny’s and I have no idea how the hell I’m going to get to work. I keep telling myself to hold it together. I push on and nibble at my steak.

“You know what, baby?” I look up from my food and tilt my head, “we’re going on an adventure today. Somewhere really special.”

I brighten at the idea of an adventure. He lays out the itinerary for me and the distraction starts to change my mood.

“We’ll go to Target and get you some clothes for tomorrow, since it’s right here and then we’ll head out to this place I know. I know you’re going to love it.”

The mystery of it all makes the urge to cry dissipate and since I have short term goal in mind, my mind starts to ease up a little bit.

1.       Target – get clothes

2.       Secret place – have a wonderful time.

These two things make me brighten and I finish my tea. Blackberry tea, it’s as sweet as summer and I tell Mike of how I began everyday last summer with a hot dog and an Arnold Palmer.

*

I can’t explain to my dad how every moment that Mike and I spend together feels extraordinary. I can’t explain how it changes my life to be with him and how our lives were seemingly written in tandem with each other.

I can’t make three ex-wives, five children and twenty-some long years of child support disappear. What I can do is hopefully inspire him with my energy. I can hopefully remind him that I am smart. I can tell when things aren’t going to work for me in a relationship. I want to show him how this man, who I’ve just met, has so easily gained my trust and my beliefs.

I’m still sitting on the couch of a friend’s house and their dogs are taking a shine to me in the way that most animals do. The carpet smells of cleaner and lavender and I take a piece of cake when offered. Because that’s what it feels like, having my cake and eating it too.

When else will I find someone whose morals and ideas about life are so similar to my own?  When else will I find someone who is so ready to build me up and build a life with me?

I know that this isn’t something that happens every day. I mean, how often does the person you’ve been dreaming about just happen to walk by the library when you’re standing outside it by chance? It doesn’t.

*

“Well, we’re gonna stop interrupting your class and head back to Kayla’s room, it’s nap time.”

I’ve skipped my Monday class, because I can go to it on Wednesday and there is a buzz in the air. Kayla, my best friend, and I have decided to make our rounds and visit our professors, but the rounds are coming to a close and I can feel two a clock hitting me like a drum.

My body wants to sleep.

We step outside of Buhl and into the space between buildings. The sun is so warm and the break from bitter cold makes us chattery. We talk with almost everyone who walks by.

I barely notice the guy who walks by in a purple shirt and dress pants. In fact, it’s Kayla who shouts to him that he’s looking pretty dapper today.  He joins our conversation and we talk for a while. There’s got to be magic in the last two weeks of a mostly magic-less semester.

My phone shouts, “SUGAR PEAS!” in a four year old’s voice and the new comer’s curiosity is piqued.

“You haven’t heard of Bravest Warriors?!” the both of us hurry to bring him into the madness of our newest online addiction.

“No, I’ve never seen it.” He tells us and we’re extended invitation to introduce him to it in his room.

An hour later, I’m heading over to the Writing Center and I text Kayla to tell her that:

”Mike’s really cute.”

I know that there isn't much time left in the semester but there’s still a small part of me that hopes that I will find someone. Even though I gave up looking.

It takes me a day to get his number from Kayla and a day to invite him over for tacos. Tacos can be magical.

*

“Baby, I want to propose to you every day, I’m just waiting to have the means to.”

I’m not sure, but I think a bomb has gone off in my head. This is not your ordinary bomb, however, because this one is filled with cherry blossoms and music and light and laughter. I could explode. I do but with words.

“Baby, oh-my-gosh,” the words are tumbling out of my mouth faster than I can form the thoughts preceding them and I gush, “I love you so much. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Three serious relationships hang above my head and the moment he speaks, they are rewritten.

I know that all of the pain has been worth it to get to this point. I know that everything has been worth it, and my karmic I-O-U has been paid in the best of ways.

The person before me is someone I wouldn’t trade the world for. He’s kind, respectful, beautiful and everything I could ever ask for and more.

He constantly reminds me of the lines:

“I think I made you up in my head.”

From Sylvia Plath’s, ‘Mad Girl’s Love Song’.

Because I couldn’t dream of a better person. I couldn’t imagine a person made of star light, who simply knows who I am and respects the inner core of my being. I know that we are two trees that have naturally grown together and the organic natural of our relationship is amazing.

These words are beautiful. These words are true.

I can see us standing together, saying the vows that we wrote ourselves and laughing because we’re just so damn happy. We are Christy and Annie. We would go to hell and back for one another, because it’s the natural course of things for us.

Inside of myself is a patch of grass and in the center is an oak tree. More than once, initials have been carved into this tree, with knives and sticks and stones, but our initials exist in the pattern of the bark. We come naturally.

Morning Thoughts

I'm lying in a room that smells distinctly of boy, or I should say, man. He has drifted into the shower and left me with thoughts of stardust and the fact that we are all pieces of the same universe. 

Will we ever talk about normal things? Not that I'm complaining, I love that I can spend my time listening and conversing about the universe and language. I am finally in a place where my intellectual mind can roam free to play. 

There's something about family the you're born with that makes you feel like you haven't changed a bit over the years. Perhaps it's the fact that you're still their little blonde girl who dreams with starry eyes while awake. Perhaps it's because you still forget your keys at there house. But, there's something so static about your birth family. 

Your chosen family, however, watches you grow. After you've chosen them, they monitor you like a newborn babe, looking for any new progress to tell the neighbors about. It's strange, but perhaps we are always children. 

So here I am, lying in a bed that is distinctly man, wondering what changes will await my infant relationship with the wonderful people I hope to someday call in laws. It is good. 

So. Many. Feels.

I just want to start this post out with some generalized, romantic statement about life, because life has been happening so much. 

Honestly, I never realized how great things could be, but they are. 

In the next couple days, I'll have to say goodbye to some of my best friends. I'm really sad, because I love them. This last semester has taught me the necessity of a good group of friends. 

So, reader, I don't know (necessarily) who all of you are, but I wish you well. 

This thought process has just occurred to me and it's overtaking my mind.

Dear Reader, I wish you well. 

I wish you love and loss. I wish that you will understand that life happens when you let it. 

In so many ways, you won't be able to predict it's beauties, for they are their own wilderness. I wish that you will be able to see them with me. I hope you can sit back and enjoy a sunset or birds as they fall and swoop in the sky. 

I hope you can look into the eyes of someone who loves you and feel the explosion, the filling feeling of selfless love. I hope you dance in the arms of the person you intend to marry.

I hope you can share this experience with as many people as possible, because it's is so fucking beautiful. I feel alive with words, drunk on sunlight and fulfilled with the creation around me. 

Live. If you do anything, Live. 

You only live once. I'm an atheist and I truly believe this statement. So do everything, feel everything, experience the world with the understanding that you only get this beauty once. Know that every second is important and everytime you look into the eyes of someone you love could be your last.

We human beings are fools of the words "it won't happen to me." 

People Die. Loved ones, mothers, fathers, aunt, uncles, sisters, brothers-- they all die. Love them while you can, because each of our lives and existences is a mere blip in the big picture. We are blinks and fragments of moments and I hope that you will love that to its fullest. 

I hope you love. I hope you read this and you can see that even though I may not know you, I love you. I love this life. It is dark, it is bright, it is gray and it is every color in existence. 

Cliche or not, this is what we have and I hope that you get to have it all.

Love, 

Amanda 

Confessions of an Overworked and Underpaid College Student: May the Fourth Be With You

It is the final week. I've had all of my classes. Now, all I have to do is tie up loose ends.

Except I don't want to do anything.

I have the worst case of senioritis and I'm a junior. Shhh. That's a secret.

So, I sit at the kitchen table, pounding away at homework, when the thought occurs to me.


Confession #4: Queen Latifah movies are a guilty pleasure of mine.

I love them. Their plotlines are basic and all the same, but I just love to see a woman empowered. I love her attitude and style and how she's so comfortable in her skin.

When I was younger, I needed people like Queen Latifah and Sailor Moon to show me a strength of character. I still remember the line from Hairshop, after the beauty salon has been destroyed, where she looks at the antagonist and says,

"You think this will knock me down? You're wrong." - (I'm totally paraphrasing this, it just looks better in quotes.)

Now, you're probably wondering, 'what the fuck does this have to do with Star Wars?' 

Well, I'm going to move out from the node of "Queen Latifah Movies" into "Movies".

You're going to have to bear with my mind, I have the tendency to reach on subjects.

But! I FINALLY saw Star Wars this year. It wasn't my favorite movie, I'll be honest, but it was really good. And today is the Fourth, this is the Fourth confession... it all just works out neatly.

Plus, Farmboys have that "you can't knock me down" attitude. They weren't born into a silver spoon world, they had to make themselves. Something in life decided that they would be exceptional and they don't have an option in it.

Being a woman isn't something you decide, being who you are isn't a decision. You just are.You embody yourself and some traits from people around you, it's nature and nurture. At least, that's how I am. I look to the people who inspire me and to myself and try to just be the confused girl standing between these points.

My boyfriend and I had this conversation over ravioli with an old man eavesdropping. Life is balance.

It relates back to Luke, learning the force is learning to balance, understand and control this ability within himself. When you find balance, you find peace. When you find peace, you are courage. You know yourself and have the confidence to be who you are.

If I find one word empowering, it's strength. I don't give up. Or rather, I don't give up until it's going to hurt me in irreparable ways if I don't. Hell, my six word memoir was:

"I will not be knocked down."

So, I don't know where this sprawly post was headed, but it's gone somewhere and I like it's thought process. Good free writing and association.

Poppies

Poppies

Amanda Hill

-          For Mike

You are a changeling boy

made of star-light-china &

only the most breathtaking words.

Your eyes were blown by

a Scandinavian glassman &

I glimpse you at stone’s edge.

I am the mermaid in the well.

Trapped. Only by chance did

You see the glimmer of my scales.

I rest, Ophelia in the water,

to the sound of your name.

You reach into the well & take my hand.

Poppies bloom.

Fortune Cookies for Those Who Wait

I am on cloud-nine and sprinting to Sunday.

I cannot even begin to describe the simple and glowing and fearless happiness that I am feeling right now. I am elated.

I looked at my mirror today. And I think my fortune cookies deserve to be a poem.
But first things first, let me explain. I started collecting fortune cookies when I received one that said, "Choose your own path."

This fortune came to me when I needed it most. I was in a relationship that was failing, stressful and straight up unhealthy. It was eating away at me and I was not making smart choices. I was letting fear rule me and someone else control my life.

I had been talking about the state of my relationship and working on a plan to deal with it, when I cracked into the tan, lightly sweet, cookie.

Four words that I needed right then.

Ever since that day, I've collected the good fortunes I've received. The ones that seem to actually apply to me.  So, here are the fortunes:

"Your love life will soon be happy and harmonious.
Choose your own path.
Do the thing you fear and death of the fear is certain.
Find a peaceful place where you can make plans for the future.
Success comes in cans not cannots.
Pure love is the willingness to give without a thought of receiving anything in return.
Fear drives you and makes you better."

Let's rearrange:


Your love life will soon be happy and harmonious.
Choose your own path.

Fear drives you and makes you better.

Success comes in cans not cannots.

Find a peaceful place where you can make plans for the future.

Do the thing you fear and death of the fear is certain.

Pure love is the willingness to give without a thought of receiving anything in return.

I like it. I think I might write a poem for each fortune I've received. Some sort of writing is required when cool things slip into your life like this. I can't just let this pass by. 

Sometimes Life is a Sassy, Drunk Pirate

After a prompt from one of my other classes, I have come to the conclusion that life is a sassy, drunk pirate. It's a hot mess in Johnny Depp and mascara and sometimes is just plain in the way.

Let me set the scene for you.

Girl is alone. Girl is happy with it though, she's learned that she doesn't need another person (be it man or woman) to make her happy. She makes herself happy. 

Girl is in the middle of most the most hectic semester of her life. Things are the 3/4 threshold and things are do or die. She's trying to make sure that everything is done on time and that all of her ducks line up in a pretty little Martha-Stewart-esque line. 

Then, girl meets boy.

Girl and boy discover that they are both at a point in which they are okay with being alone. Then they decide not to be, because they make each other happy. 

To say the least, Life, the sassy, drunk pirate is sitting along the side lines, grinning, as these two start building things together. 

This is not to say that things are perfect. The boy could be leaving and the girl is going to be away for a while  but for the moment, things are near perfection. For the moment, they are both simply happy.

I don't know if you can tell, but I'm on this fairytale kick right now. I'm not sure why. Perhaps the simplicity.

This is my over the top way of saying, I've met a boy. I'm scared but the happiness outweighs that. As it should. I just can't get over how little I was expecting this. It's the last week of the semester, he graduates in two weeks and we're both just trying to survive.

Then, BOOM out of nowhere, our paths cross and now they are interlinked and dancing with an electric hum. It's almost terrifying. What if I hadn't been outside that day? What if I'd gone to the Monday class instead of the Wednesday? What if he had decided to simply go back to his room instead of going to the library? There are a thousand different ways the situation could have played out, but it played this way instead.

It's amazing.

Now, I have a boy to read the words of Jack Kerouac to at midnight. And he has the most beautiful name.

Who'd have thought?

Confessions of an Overworked and Underpaid College Student: Edition 2

So, I've been thinking over my dirtiest deeds and things to confess to. Which brings us to confession #3.

Now, while I have a basically non-existent readership, I still feel it necessary to update you all on my life.

First things first, put on your party hat because MUSE & STONE (the magazine I lead) FINALLY PUBLISHED!!! AAAAAAH!

Most exciting day of my life, here's a little confession, we'll call it

Confession #2.5 I cried a little when I held the magazine for the first time. You guys just have no idea how much I adore this publication and want it to succeed. To hold two semesters worth of work and blood and sweet and tears in my hands was one of the most joyful things possible.

This magazine went from emails between myself and next year's Exec Editor to a BEAUTIFUL magazine. We may not be a national publication anymore, but it still means a lot to the campus.

Another update, my grounds on going to grad school or not have shifted. I'm looking at a job with a company that I love and if I do get the job, I may postpone grad school. Nothing official yet, but on the sidelines there are things brewing.

So, now that I've included just a little bit of myself, here is confession #3.

Confession #3: I steal food.

Now, I can see your eyebrows raising and you're wondering about the person currently composing this blog post. Hold your tits, I'll explain.

My campus often times hold events for teacher/administration/visiting students and as I mentioned before, I am a commuter.

To add a meal plan to my tuition would add on thousands of dollars. I already have a tuition payment, I cannot afford to pay anymore.

So, when I see food sitting out, unguarded, you can bet that I will be walking by and taking some. I'm not saying I bring a Scooby-Doo sized bag and take some back to Shaggy so we can get high and munch in the back of the Mystery Machine.

I'm saying that when I pass free food I think, Yay! I don't have to eat shitty campus food.

Because we all know that the food they serve for such events tends to be a little better than the regular campus food and it also adds a little variety to the chicken nuggets diet.

Besides, if they didn't want that food to be eaten, they wouldn't leave it where students can get to it. We're hungry and poor people.
   
   

Confessions of an Overworked and Underpaid College Student

I guess I'm taking up this post because I am exhausted. I'm sitting in the WC, contemplating the fact that I just fell asleep while waiting to clock in.

I, Amanda Hill, am an overworked and underpaid college student.

I'm not writing this post to complain about my jobs, because two of them rock, but to discuss, rather, my own compulsory need to volunteer and attempt to do as much as possible.

I currently hold down a couple jobs, I'm keeping decent grades, I'm entering contests. I plan to enter my school's talent contest, because I miss singing onstage.

I feel this need to constantly be doing something. I'm always looking for something to do. Whether it be homework, an activity, I don't know what my brain feels like it's missing but it makes me constantly evaluate myself as not doing enough.

Meh. I wish I had more days. This semester is owning my life. I've never been so involved with my campus.

As a commuter, this is pretty hard.

Cue Confession #1. I nap in my car.

I am so glad that I have a safe campus, because there are days (like today) when I'm on campus for 13 hours and I just need to take a break and sleep.

In most cities and on most campuses, I wouldn't feel safe doing this. However, my campus is a relatively safe place. And I park in the lot by security-- our security is pretty awesome.

Confession #2. I hate our campus Starbucks.

I can feel the reader's eyes widening in shock. A college student who hates Starbucks? Outrage!
Well, our Starbucks really hurt the business of our local, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop and while it's not the main reason that the coffee shop closed, it still had a negative effect on a local business and that upsets me a bit. Plus, they're coffee was better.

I think I'll turn this into a serial. So, check back tomorrow and I might have another confession of an overworked and underpaid college student.

Now enjoy my reactions to all of the things I had to say.

Food For Thought. College Student Edition.

This is going to be a bit of a mess. I'm hashing out my thoughts. If you're reading this pre-publish, good luck following it. I can barely follow it.


So, I'm currently sitting in the computer lab of my college and I just overheard two people discussing how unfair it is that their credits didn't transfer. While, I sympathize with their troubles, I feel that they don't really understand the situation. 

They're operating under the somewhat idealistic idea that college, like high school, is about learning. They assume that the outside world of money doesn't touch the institution of higher education.

Let me do a little side explanation here.

I am an English major. With a concentration in Creative Writing. Do you know what that spells for me post BA? No job, folks. I have been dealing with the harsh realities of this since my Freshman year.

As a much wiser and older student once said to me, "I'm getting a degree in poverty."

Which is the truth. I didn't make this choice because I wanted to make money. That's not what education is about to me. If I wanted to make money, I would have chosen to be a business major. I can understand the school of thought that says degree  = job.

College is supposed to refine the set of skills that you have so that you may go forth in the world and seek out a profession that will pay your bills and that you will enjoy.

That's the idealistic idea of this. You're paying your dues.

"You must invest in the world if you want to see a change in it." - I'm paraphrasing here, but TDKR made a good point.

A Post About Things I Don't Want To Share

As I sit down to write this, I know I am writing it out of necessity. I would rather be doing one hundred other things than writing this blog post. I'm not putting it off because I'm being lazy. I'm not putting it off because I'm busy. I just don't want to deal with it.

I'll start off by saying, I'm not a sunshine and butterflies person. If you think I am, then you don't know me very well. Not to say that I'm not a happy person, but I am a bit of a private person. There's a lot I don't tell people about. I don't want them to know.

I've been thinking a lot about body image lately. When I say I've been thinking, what I really mean is that I've been staring at a mirror and obsessing over what I consider flaws. I stare at my body and wonder why I don't look like a girl from the cover of a magazine. I do twenty-five leg lifts and think that afterwards I will consider myself beautiful.

I think about all of the people around me and how much skinnier, prettier, and smarter they are than I consider myself. I think of all the things I cannot be and try to figure out a way to work them into myself. I think, if only I were thinner, if only I read more, if only I worked harder, if only I didn't whine so much.

I want to be supernatural. And when I say that, I mean more than natural. I want to be one-hundred things at once.

I want to be as thin as a super model, as chic as a Parisian, as well read as a 70 year old poetry teacher who has traveled the world, as composed as an open heart surgeon. I think I've barely left room for me to be myself.

I let myself forget meals. I let myself forget hungry. I push myself to go without. I push myself to ignore my body's protest because in my mind, I'm just being a whiny little bitch.

I wish my complexion was even.

I wish I wasn't so hard on myself. I know there are things I love about me. Like my eyes. The first thing I ever loved about myself is how light blue they are. I love how pale I am, and I will defend my creamy skin until death. I love how edgy I look with my near china red lipstick, dark black hair, pale skin, blue eyes. I look like a doll or rather I have the color palette of one.

I know there are things I love about myself. It's just so hard to remember them when I stand in front of the mirror and see the things I consider flaws.

But then, I'll always see these things. I used to be a size two, I was working on a size zero, and I still saw that same spot on my stomach. I still saw myself as fat.

A year ago, I was a size 2. I was so proud of that number. Yet, I still felt compelled to push myself. I look back now and know that I wouldn't ever be thin enough to make myself happy. It's not about the numbers. It's not about how I look in a pair of skinny jeans. It's about loving me. It's about appreciating that I am not and will not ever be insect thin. No matter how hard I push myself, losing weight won't make me happy. I have to choose to be happy with myself. And that's the hardest thing of all.

I don't want to accept that I am only human. To me that is giving up. I have to be better than that and better than everything. Stronger, faster, and flawless.

But I don't. I just have to be Amanda. I just have to live and love myself.

The Calm Before the Storm

It is a severe understatement to say that I am nervous about studying abroad.

I have a hundred questions on my mind, but, most of all, I am so excited. I'm awaiting hear back whether or not I've been accepted for the financial aid or something like that. It's a terrifying and wonderful thing to think of going to another country.

On another note, this week is a particularly painful one.

Four years ago this Sunday, my best friend died.

I can't help but remember her at this time of year. I swear some days that I'd be okay with the month of February dropping off of the calendar altogether.

I miss Jessie. She was such a warm and loving person. It is so unfair that she's gone.

I want to write more on the subject, but maybe now isn't the time.

I'm late on writing this post, but it's only 12:18 am, Saturday. I think I'll let myself slide on this one. I've felt really stuck lately. There's this strange need to do absolutely nothing that keeps trying to envelope my mind. I just want to curl up in my bed and do nothing, which would be disastrous.

I've avoided sending myself into a full-blown meltdown about my lack of interest in life. I just keep remembering to breathe deeply.

"This too shall pass"

I want to get it tattooed on my body. Well, that and one hundred other things. I want a tattoo in England. I want words from Sylvia Plath, J.K. Rowling, a mermaid and an astronaut, and a faceless pocket watch.

I want to paint again. I can feel this overflow of creative energy. Once the world quiets, my mind awakens. Which is strange, because I'm typically an early morning writer. Who needs sleep? Carpe Noctem!

Ahhhhh. There's the feeling I was looking for. The glow. I feel like I can breathe again, knowing that I'm creating something.

"That's why you're a writer." "This isn't permanent." "You go hard everyday, give yourself some time to rest." "Try to forget English, try to learn the language like a child." "it's always ourselves we find in the sea."

I've received some very good advice in the last week.

I'm very thankful for the people in my life. They keep me going when the storm dumps down it's furious rain and thunder and lightning. I just have to remember the magic of words. I just have to breathe. I just have to move.

I've had a lot of writing due this week and I've noticed my need for poetry slipping into it. It's such a pleasing thing to see these lines. To feel their crisp cut lines and balance in my mind. e.e. cummings has kept me in good company this week. It's time to read again. It's time to write again. It's time to live again.

This is messy writing. I'm okay with that. I might come back and edit this later. I might not.

Blog Fridays

Okay. Deep breath. I must say, I'm pretty thankful to have the friends I do. They're the best support system I could ask for. 

Prioritize. I worked out today. I think I figured out a way to add working out into my daily routine. Which I know will improve my moods drastically. Now, if I could only get my homework done on time and not forget what's due. 

The list of things I need to do is a towering one:

Practice Spanish

Write more

Write more poetry

Write any poetry

Keep up on my dream journal

Figure out ideas for the cover of M&S

Figure out how to stimulate the writers on campus

Do my theory readings

Do my theory hw

Start my midterm projects

Inter-library loan novels that I'm too poor to buy

Get a job

Keep said job

Master said job

Run more

Work out every day

Read everyone else's blog posts

...

I could keep going forever. I feel lazy. Apparently there's this thing called relaxing. I'm not at all familiar with the concept. I've spent the day watching movies with my cat and can say that I feel a bit like lard. Unmotivated. 

The phrase that comes to mind is, "When it rains, it pours." I think I'm a pretty positive person, but there's only so much that I can take before I go all doom and gloom and just want to not do life anymore. Looking back on the last two weeks makes me just want to shut myself in a room and never come out again. I just watched Spirited Away and I'm pretty sure that Kohaku was talking to me when he said, "Don't look back." 

Oh awesome. The screen on my laptop is flickering. Don't even think about it laptop. Ain't nobody got time for that. 

On a positive note, yesterday was my first Valentine's Day alone in 6 years. It wasn't nearly as scary as I thought it'd be. Remus (my cat) is the best date. 

This post is sub par. Oh well. Here's a picture of my cat. And some snow.

I'm trying to keep my new blog deadline of posting my thoughts on Fridays. 

"Your love life will soon be happy and harmonious"

"Your love life will soon be happy and harmonious"

It's a fortune. I have it taped up on my mirror, but only for the irony of it all. I got this fortune two months ago. I'm starting to lose hope in its false magic.

In the last two weeks my life has exploded. In quick succession, I found myself a group of friends, my mother was in an accident, I had an entire relationship end in its foundling era and I lost my job. I wonder how I'm still standing.

Let's focus on the relationship for a minute. It's hard to love someone. It's hard to know that you need someone, especially for me. I've never needed anyone in my life. I seem warm and like I am close to a lot of people, but in reality, very few people know me completely. I spent my entire childhood moving around, I know how not to lay down roots. Suddenly, I wanted to plant roses during this Indian summer.

I could see growing old with someone. I fully trusted this person. Our relationship existed in cycles. This was the good part of the cycle and like a manic who hasn't taken her pills, I didn't believe the down cycle would come.

It did. It came in the form of a phone call. I'm still a little enraged by the fact that he didn't have the balls to say it to my face. He didn't have the balls to look me in the eyes as he went back on everything he had said only four days ago.

I listened as he hid behind excuses. I've spent more than enough time with this person to know when he's lying. I can feel it. I don't need to see him to know what's true and what's not. Besides, he admitted all of the things he's now taking back.

I'm alone, crying in my car.  I always cry in my car. She's the only thing in the world I own. I realize as the conversation comes to a close that there is an earth quake underneath my skin. Things are moving, changing. I tell him later that I don't want him to talk to me.

There's a small and angry part of me that wants to bring him to his knees. I want him to feel like I do. I want him to ache and burn at the words coming out of my mouth. I bury that urge. It's not ladylike or fair.

I think back to that fortune cookie and laugh. It's so ironic to me. I guess it didn't give a timeline for how long happy and harmonious would last. Do fortune cookies have a 12 hour limit?

Once the continents stopped moving, a new me was formed. I realized that these feelings, this hurt, it was an energy. I could channel it into other things. I do. I push against this anger, this hurt. I sing to myself, I write, I draw, I channel all of this into bettering myself. I start jogging again.

Oh nothing feels better than ten straight minutes of pounding feet and remembering the words that cut the most. If I feel myself slowing down or wanting to quit, I think of those things. Then I run harder. I run faster. After twenty minutes, I feel so much better.

I think of making myself a goals poster. Something to remind myself of what I'm working for. Being publish in undergrad. Studying abroad. A 3.8 GPA this semester. These concrete goals remind me that there are things other than a happy and harmonious love life to worry about.

Do You Want Soup With That?

To say I've been stewing over this is not only a pun but also an understatement.

I am enraged. Outraged. Upset. Fit to be tied.

I've been a waitress for two years, in food service since I was fourteen. I've worked at multiple restaurants, delights, ice cream shops. I know my profession and while I recognize that this isn't the final stop for me in the working world, I know that it makes me want to be at the final stop.

I work for a corporate restaurant that by legal constraints I am not allowed to name or deface, here or places otherwise on the interwebs. Isn't that a cookie?

Obviously, corporate restaurants are only looking at one thing. The money. The sales. How much did our hard work earn the greedy asshats at the top?

I have been told more than once that I'm the perfect sales girl. I'm bubbly and cheery. I constantly push to make good sales during my shifts.

It's not easy either. I'm a weekend waitress and right now we're pushing soup to-go. Soup doesn't keep very well in a car. Most of my customers, I'm sorry, guests are traveling. They can't take soup. Yet, I constantly make good sales in soup. Because I push it.

Yesterday was one of the slowest days I've worked. Most people are under the assumption that when you wait tables you often get sent home early and have short shifts.

This is a common misconception.

It is only very rarely that anyone waiting tables gets an early day. More often, we spend 10+ hours on our feet at the whim of the general public.

Back to the situation at hand. Yesterday was suuuuuuuper slow. Yet, I managed to sell 8 quarts of soup. That folks is roughly $42 in soup. It is a feat on a busy day to sell that much. Not only that, but my sales per guest was over $11.00.

Bet you didn't realize that we keep track of these things? We servers do. There's ton of corporate pressure to increase these numbers.

The sales mentioned above are great for a busy day and outstanding for a dead day. I worked my ass off to get them.

So, I bet you're wondering exactly what I earned for all of my hard work.

I earned a $5 coupon, not valid with any discount for all of my hard work. As in, I earned a voucher to purchase food at full price from the company that I work for. Anyone in the service industry will know right away that this is not a reward. This is a slap in that face.

One of our mottoes is 'Increase Returns On Invested Capital'. Thank you, unmentioned company that I work for, but that is not how you achieve that goal. You want me, the person you depend on, to make sales. All I want after a day that I have done just that is not to have to pay for my meal. I want my outstanding sales to be rewarded by you paying for the $5.82 that it cost to feed me.

That's still $36 in sales if you subtract the money for my meal. Oh, and to the corporate assholes who decided that we weren't allowed to "Best" (what we call when the company buys our meals because of excellence in sales) meals anymore, why do you go find another server who can tell you our Mission Objectives.

It sickens me that things are so much about money that you can't even reward someone's hard work. One of my coworkers who has been there a lot longer than me told me that they do this every so often. In a few months policies will grow lax again and they'll start "besting" meals again.

In the mean time, I'm gonna try and sell you a quart of soup because if I don't sell enough my managers have to cut down my section.

You may not know what that means, so let me level with you. It means they limit the amount of tables I have and limit the amount of money I can make.

So, the next time your server asks you if you want a soup or any kind of add on, maybe you'll think twice about saying no. I hope you'll be understanding that we servers are under more pressure than you know.

So, don't cut us off when we're offering you something. It's what we're trained to do. Every word spoken to you between the time you are greeted and when the check is dropped off has been scripted and taught to each of us. Remember that our jobs, the money that pays our bills, is dependent on the whim of people who aren't as forgiving as the jobs of those who work a normal 9-5 job.

A Post I Will Probably Shudder At Later

Oh God.

A new blog. It's hard enough to keep up the other one I have. I'm excited and nervous at the same time. This is a blank canvas.

But I am simply a child with finger paints, not a master with fine haired brushes. Here we go, I guess.

I hope this doesn't end up like the beginnings of my Tumblr, which should not see the light of day ever. 9000 posts later, I'm still humiliated at what it takes to discover myself on the interwebs.

Bah. Who am I kidding?

I'm once again in the somewhat nerve wracking position of applying for a job. I swear, I'm a masochist. I'm already overworked but when I saw the post from Chegg, I jumped on it. It's a position that I can manage in my fabulously underrated pajamas. I've never failed an application/interview yet. So, I'm hoping for that.

I'm still a ball of anxiety over getting my gold nametag at work. For anyone reading this who doesn't know, I work in a corporate run restaurant and a gold name tag means Certified Trainer - aka Badass of Waiting Tables. I've been in the process for a couple months. I've trained two people. They told me to raise my expectations, so I did. Now, I wait.

Fingers crossed. I just want this so bad. I keep telling my GM that. I mean, how awesome is a resume going to look if I can say I was a corporate Certified Trainer, Executive Editor of M&S, a Tutor and running a successful blog at the same time. All while looking fabulous.

Looming ahead is the application to study abroad as well.

I feel like I'm constantly in the middle of a Friday night rush and constantly battling to balance a seven table section while they're double seating me like crazy. Writing helps.

I invested in a three pack of Moleskins via a recommendation from a friend. Best. Decision. Ever.

I hope this post doesn't seem to scattered. I'm trying to organize my brain. Okay, breathe, set up list of goals. Accomplish goals. Feel like a badass. Give self manicure, because the last one didn't make it through the shower. I swear, I will never have all of my houses in order. It's impossible. If I'm monetarily sound, then I am constantly battling loneliness, when I have all of my homework done I get bored and spend money because I want to do things and then I have no money, but stuff is done but then....... toomuchstuff.

I wonder if this is going to end up like my Tumblr. A few awesome people caring about my shit. I'm okay with that. I'm not a big trendy blogger who can photoshop and make pretty banners. I can find cool tattoos and creepy artwork.

We talked about being dark writers in class, but it wasn't my turn to speak, so I didn't. Martin used to call me goth. I swear the moniker has stuck since. I bet it will shine through like silver through black paint. I have got to stop listening to Katy Perry. I have better music than this...

Alright then. Enough with my nonsense and stuff. Time to go do stuff and pay bills and be an adult and whoever told me being older was awesome totally lied. What bullshit.